The Other Side of the World
by Bliss Jones
Summary: She has to keep repeating to herself that she made the right decision.


Disclaimers: "Alias" and all its related characters belong to J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot, ABC, and other people who aren't me. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Spoilers: The Telling  
  
***  
  
They give her a list of cities to choose from, like Chicago, Vancouver, and Madrid. She decides on London rather quickly.  
  
Before, back when the threat of discovery hung over her head daily, she used to plan possible escape routes, just for fun, she thinks with a sad laugh. A part of her was always somewhat disappointed that she could never pick London as a final destination. How could you disappear off the face of the earth when Alliance headquarters could be right down the street?  
  
But now she can choose London with no fears, no regrets. Well, not those kind of regrets anyway. She has new ones, ever since she woke up in that alley. She tries not to think of them too often.  
  
Her father is classically stoic at the airport. At least some things don't change, she muses. "Things will start to look better once you've settled in."  
  
She tries to smile; she's not sure if she remembers how. "I'll call you," he whispers. He's losing her all over again, she thinks. But this time she's choosing to go, or rather, taking them up on their recommendation.  
  
"Thanks, Dad," she says slowly, after he's already in the car and driving away and can't hear her.  
  
As she ascends the steps of the chartered jet, she scans the airfield. Even though it's dark and even though she knows he won't be there, she looks anyway. She's right.  
  
During the flight, she attempts to sleep but finds she cannot. She carelessly flips through the assortment of magazines laid out in front of her and abandons them just as quickly. Their titles and headlines are too trivial for her right now. Instead, she begins to think of London.  
  
She imagines the cab right into the city and pulling up to the door of her new flat. She thinks about walking through green parks and aimlessly browsing through bookshops. She thinks about the life she will finally get to live. A new life, just for her. Just for her and no one else. No one else will be there.  
  
She's surprised to find herself waking up to the smell of coffee. She hadn't realized she was sleeping. For a moment, for one perfect moment, she is in a bed, a warm sheet covering her naked body, and she can almost feel his soft touch tracing the outlines of her neck.  
  
Opening her eyes, she becomes dizzyingly aware of the reality around her. Stupid, she thinks. She should be over those little fantasies by now. She was in debrief long enough to know *that* was never going to happen again.  
  
The airport is crowded when she lands. There are more people here than she's been used to lately. The wait for a black cab is long, but her single piece of luggage is not heavy.  
  
Her flat is everything she expects it would be. She doesn't have to go food shopping for a few days, everything is so well prepared. She even has a view of a small garden in the back. The roses are in bloom. She wonders if he knew about the roses, wonders if maybe he made that request. She's unsure if he still has that kind of authority.  
  
So here she is on the other side of the world, sitting in her kitchen, cupping a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She has to keep repeating to herself that she made the right decision. There were no other options. There were no other options.  
  
Somehow, she tells herself, she will get through this. She has to. She is Lisa Evans now. And Lisa Evans wouldn't be sobbing in her kitchen in the middle of the afternoon.  
  
In bed that night she stares at the ceiling. It is impossible to sleep. When she closes her eyes, all she can see is his eyes. They dance with warmth in front of her. She makes a rash decision. She picks up her cell phone.  
  
"Hello?" comes a pleasant, soft voice on the other end. Sydney feels her lungs ready to burst at the sound of this woman's voice.  
  
"Hello?" the voice says again, this time concerned. But Sydney isn't ready to hang up yet.  
  
"Hello?" It's indignation now, and finally Sydney can hear it in the background -- a kind of muffled "Who is it, honey?"  
  
Sydney turns off the phone. She is satisfied. Not happy. Not pleased. But satisfied. For now that will be enough. She hugs her pillow tighter.  
  
She whispers into the darkness, "Tomorrow I will go for a run in the park. I will buy a newspaper and some gum, and I will not think about Michael Vaughn." 


End file.
